


Claustrophobia

by theescapist99



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canon Compliant, Established Relationship, M/M, and probably some rape, but obviously theres some stalking, i dont like overstating things weve established this, if any of you are old enough to remember that movie, percival gets really paranoid, possibly dead dove: do not eat, think one hour photo, updated tag: suicide mention, updated tag: this is turning out pretty slow burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-19
Updated: 2017-06-15
Packaged: 2018-11-02 15:47:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 13
Words: 18,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10947684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theescapist99/pseuds/theescapist99
Summary: It was a perfectly innocuous photograph, sure. Yet something about the picture – something that caught Percival’s attention immediately – made the director’s stomach bubble with unease.Well… two things actually:Number one: Who on earth would be taking pictures of Credence?And number two: Why would they be doing it – seemingly, at least – without the boy’s knowledge or consent?





	1. Picture Perfect

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Percival receives some alarming mail.

There was a photograph that came in the mail that morning.

It was a photograph of Credence.

Percival almost missed it among the bulk of envelopes and letters that Cheshire brought that morning, as the thin picture stuck slightly against the back of the gigantic envelope that contained the rough drafts of the new employee verification forms – but there it was.

Percival lifted it up to the light that poured in from the window that was still partly open from his owl’s entrance --- Cheshire now busying himself by pecking at the seeds that were always laid out for him.

It was an innocent photograph, honestly.

Credence appeared to be walking off from a visit to the book store, with a bag of new purchases clutched tightly in one hand.

It was obviously a recent photo… considering that the boy’s hair was styled in the long, and almost bouncy curled locks that Percival now had the blessing of waking up next to in the early mornings, in recent days.

Plus there was some fullness to his face -- a color that lined his cheekbones which Credence had certainly never had living with the likes of Mary Lou.

It was a perfectly innocuous photograph, yes.

If anyone else had seen this photograph, they probably would have disregarded it as some random candid picture of some ordinary looking boy, in the middle of doing ordinary and mundane activity.

Yet something about the picture – something that caught Percival’s attention immediately – made the director’s stomach bubble with unease.

Well… _two_ things actually:

Number one:

Who on earth would be taking pictures of Credence?

And number two:

Why would they be doing it – _seemingly_ , at least – without the boy’s knowledge or consent?

 

* * *

 

By the time Credence came home, Percival had mostly forgotten about the picture.

It was troubling, sure – but being the director of magical security, he had more pressing matters to worry about.

Even with Grindelwald behind their bars (which was a full time job all on its own) there were many followers and copy cats to track down, as well as aftermaths to clean and cover up.

On top of things, the incident with the obscurus had been rather traumatizing for certain individuals -- to which Percival would say that only _one_ person truly had the right to be traumatized by it – but never the less, people were and it had compelled some employees to turn in their MACUSA badges. Percival had even un-demoted Tina Goldstein simply because the Aurors were so understaffed.

It had nothing to do with guilt -- don’t be silly.

And so by the time Credence hobbled in through the front door, Percival’s hand was cramping in the middle of writing maybe the 30th letter he has had to write that day – and he wasn’t even halfway done.

“Hello Percy,” Credence greeted the older man casually as he walked past Percival’s writing table.

The boy carried in yet another haul of stacked books -- something Percival has become accustom to seeing around the house since Credence moved in.

Percival only glanced up for about a half second however, his hand still moving with or without its owner’s full attention.

It’s almost as though it were programmed at this point.

Seeing the tomes in Percival’s arms reminded the director of something… but only vaguely.

There was only that feeling of walking into another room and realizing you forgot what you had come in to do -- and the mental frustration at your own bad memory.

Still, Percival felt compelled to ask, “Hello, darling. Say… did you do anything unusual today?”

Credence dropped his books on the growing stack of titles that had caught his eye while he was shopping – but which he likely wouldn’t ever actually get around to reading.

Some of the books looked to be the size of encyclopedias -- it was perhaps the bulk of those that made the pile so large, climbing past the large sofa armrest directly next to it.

“No…” Credence answered slowly, obviously not missing the oddity of the question.

It was not the typical -- often dismissive -- “How was your day?” greeting.

Or if Percival was _really_ busy the abbreviated “Good day?” version.

Instead the older man had asked “Did you do anything unusual today?”, and it was just like Credence to pick up on the slight shift in wording right away.

Credence was a smart lad – and growing smarter with every book he did actually manage to finish.

“Why do you ask, Percy?”

But Percival was already distracted again – cursing himself for writing a prior statement entirely wrong. And so his eyes were back on his desk as he mumbled, “It’s nothing. Just wondering what you were up to is all… _fuck_!”

The tip of the quill he was writing with had snapped off, and Percival was on the verge of just sending a howler back instead.

Unfortunately, however, that is likely something Seraphina would fail to see the humor in.

“Sorry, I…” Percival growled. He looked up as he leaned over to the desk’s leftmost drawer in order to get a replacement quill, twisting his neck around to give Credence an explanation to his usual tune of “I’ve had a really busy day.”

But the director turned around to find nobody where Credence last stood.

And upstairs he heard the soft click of their bedroom door close.

* * *

 

“Sir, the death potion appears to be broken.”

Abernathy stood in front of Percival’s desk looking absolutely terrorized – pale and wide eyed in a way that reminded Percival faintly of Credence.

“What do you mean the death potion is broken?” Percival snarled up at smaller man from the brim of his lukewarm coffee mug, “How the fuck does a death potion _break_?”

“I don’t know!” Abernathy seemed to still manage to cower despite the fact that Percival was the one sitting down and he was standing up, “It appears to have been neutralized or… or something! We tried putting Pamona in and just… nothing.”

“ _Nothing_?”

“Nada,” Abernathy swallowed hard, apparently trying to keep his voice steady, “He just sort of floated in it for a while… he didn’t even lose consciousness. Andrews tried to drop a paper in it, and that just floated too. We’re keeping Pamona in a cell until we can figure out what’s going on, but we have no idea… th - this has never happened before.”

Percival groaned as he leaned back, his eyes looking up at the high ceiling of his office.

If not for anything else, he felt that somehow watching Abernathy twitch and fidget in front of him was making him even more irate.

A gripping headache had his brain in a chokehold -- and it was barely even noon.

“I’ll be down there in about half an hour…” Percival sighed, still looking up at the ceiling.

Abernathy followed the director’s gaze, likely wondering what Percival saw up there that was so interesting. A few seconds of awkward silence followed until he finally gave up --- but before he turned heel to leave, Percival heard Abernathy drop something on his desk.

“Mail came also sir,” Abernathy stated the words in a very quick succession before he practically bolted for the door, as though Percival was some kind of serial killer chasing after him.

Percival didn’t even bother looking back on the already chaotic landscape of his desk until he heard the heavy door of his office slam shut.

Finishing the last of his coffee like it was a shot of whiskey (which he so sorely wished it was), the director pulled the pile of mail towards him.

Shifting through mail – particularly office mail – was always a tedious task, as there was rarely ever anything of importance to be found in the stacks of heavy envelopes.

Unlike personal mail, office mail was often directed at the entire office or organization as a whole which meant 90% of the time it would be just flyers or small time service providers offering contracts to anyone who might actually throw them one.

Still on occasion, there would be that _one_ crucial letter containing some _massively_ important detail found bundled up with the rest of the junk -- that _one_ letter that made opening each and every envelope a necessary part of some unlucky employees day.

Contrary to what you’re probably thinking, one of those letters was _not_ included in this particular stack of mail.

What _was_ , however, was an unmarked enveloped containing not just one -- but _three_ pictures of Credence.

Just like the first picture, these were taken candidly, recently, and almost certainly without Credence’s knowledge.

Unlike the first picture, however, these were not of Credence out and about his daily routine – but rather they were shots of him undressing, taken through what was unmistakably their bedroom windowsill.

And finally, something – or rather someone -- had caught Percival’s full attention.


	2. Hunger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Percival confronts Abernathy. Credence is worried.

 

The metallic file cabinet cried out with a loud slam as Abernathy was pushed up against it’s broad side, a seething Percival right on top of him.

“What kind of sick fucking joke is this, Abernathy?” Percival hissed. He tried to keep in mind that it was not long since regular work hours had ended… so night staff and people trying to get in overtime may still be walking the halls.

Still, Percival had managed to corner Abernathy in one of the less frequented rooms for record storage -- and he was relatively confident that he could probably get in at least one good punch without anyone hearing.

“I -- I – I have no idea what you’re talking about, sir!”

“ _How did you get those pictures_?” Percival growled, pressing up against the quivering underling even more so. “Did _you_ take them?”

“Wha – what pictures?” Abernathy squeaked, his voice so high from fear that he could have given Credence a run for his money.

The confusion and terror etched into Abernathy’s features and body language were almost comical if they had only been in a less serious situation… but just as well as they were comical, both these things also seemed to be genuine.

Through the bright red veil of lividity, Percival was finally able to channel a bit of rationale.

It should be needless to say that Percival Graves had both good instinct and a keen eye for sincerity. And these ingrained personality traits now led Percival to realize that the selection of his next words could be _very_ consequential for various reasons.

To the knowledge of everyone except an extremely small group of people, Credence Barebone was considered dead – obliterated into thin air in front of a very large cloud of witnesses.

No one else knew about that tiny wisp of obscurus -- the living shrapnel that fled and took shelter in narrow alleys until it regained enough strength to regenerate.

No one else knew that once solid again, Credence wandered the streets in a weakened state, keeping his head down and his presence small to minimize the risk of recognition.

No one else knew about the awful things the boy had to do to survive – until he finally collapsed on Percival’s doorstep (a random doorstep at the time) in a _gigantic_ coincidence that some people could call a cruel twist of fate… but perhaps some may consider it a miracle of divine mercy.

Regardless… that wasn’t the point here.

The fact of the matter was Credence was _supposed_ to be dead.

 _No one_ was supposed to know about his continued existence – let alone his residency or relationship with the Director of Magical Security himself.

 _No one_ should have known except those few select people… none of which would take such pictures of the boy let alone send them to Percival in some apparent taunt.

Yet someone did, and the only other person who had had contact – however indirect – with these photographs was Abernathy, who handed him the mail that morning. And alarmed and panicked, Percival had jumped to conclusions and hunted Abernathy down for it.

But what if Abernathy _wasn’t_ responsible after all?

Should Percival risk revealing not only the pictures, but Credence himself?

Would it be wise to give Abernathy reason to be suspicious of Percival -- when the younger man had a reputation for being the President’s personal rat?

It was also needless to say that Seraphina was who Percival was hiding Credence from the very most.

Should she ever discover that the boy lived, Percival was sure President Picquery would demand the boy’s prosecution _immediately_.

And there would be little – if anything – Percival would be able to do to save him.

Sighing, Percival released the fist that had formed a clump in Abernathy’s shirt collar – one that was now damp with pools of sweat.

“Maybe, I made a mistake…” Percival grunted. His eyes would not meet Abernathy’s as he inched backwards slightly, his eyes suddenly fixated on the rooms only window which was showing the early stages of a night sky.

Abernathy did not seem to know what to say to that, but his whole body seemed to collapse with relief at the slight alleviation.

Then Percival turned to look at him again, and instantly Abernathy jumped.

“Who gave you the mail this morning, Abernathy?” Percival asked softly, hoping he didn’t startle his coworker to the point of jostling his memory.

In truth, Percival was just so desperate for an answer -- and already feeling unnerved by the lack of leads or motive.

“No – no one sir,” Abernathy stuttered, “…One of the office owl’s left it like always, I think. It was already in the mailbox when I picked it up. Wh – why do you ask?”

Percival closed his eyes tiredly, turning his head away again as he said in a low and bitter grumble, “It’s nothing. Someone sent me something obscene. It was probably just a stupid prank. I thought it might have been you, but since you don’t seem to know what I’m talking about… just go, forget this happened. My apologies.”

Percival was well aware that his “apologies” sounded much less apologetic and much more like “I’m saying I’m sorry so you better not fucking tell anyone about this because hey, at least I apologized”— but the director was willing to bet that Abernathy had been working with him long enough to understand exactly what he meant.

And true to form, Abernathy only nodded in response before he obeyed the command and walked briskly out of the small room.

When Percival glanced at the window again, the evening sky was in full swing and Percival wondered just how much time had passed since work actually ended.

He pondered if Credence might be wondering where he was… but the seldom heard voice of his guilty conscience reminded him that it was not all that uncommon for Percival to work long hours without sending a note home to tell Credence he’ll be late.

Momentarily, Percival even considered that his dedication to his career could have been a contributing factor to the mess in which he suddenly found himself.

But he swatted the thought away quickly --- reminding himself that there was not much point in contemplating faults in non-negotiable aspects.

 

* * *

 

“Why isn’t the door locked?”

It was the first question Percival asked when he saw Credence that evening – the boy already curled up around an open book on their shared queen sized bed, belly bulging from a big dinner eaten in solitude.

“It wasn’t locked?” Credence responded with a rather uncaring tone, the boy’s eyes not leaving the pages of his book.

“No, it wasn’t,” Percival said sharply as he began to undress, his eyes doing a quick glance at the bedroom window before he fully unbuttoned his undershirt.

Credence did look up at the older man then -- not having missed the clipped tone or the seriousness in Percival’s voice.

“Oh…” Credence frowned, “I must have forgotten to lock it when I came back in, I’m sorry.”

Percival paused in the middle of disrobing.

Shirtless, he came closer to Credence and knelt down on the floor just next to where Credence was lounging. He grabbed one of Credence’s hands, and Credence looked both confused and concerned at the sudden gestures.

“What’s wrong, Percival?” Credence whispered.

The boy’s warm and minty breath from teeth now frequently brushed drifted and filled the small space between the two men’s faces.

Percival had been nearly this close to Abernathy just hours earlier -- worried about the consequences of revealing too much about this situation with Credence.

And now the director found himself worrying about practically the same thing – except the person in question was Credence himself.

 _Should_ Percival tell the boy?

It seems like it should be a very obvious answer – a definite yes – if only Percival were dealing with damn near anyone else but Credence Barbone.

Of course you should tell someone if you even _suspect_ they were being stalked.

Their life could literally depend on whether or not they know to be on the lookout.

Still – for at least this early point on what would unknowingly be a long road traveled – Percival found his tongue becoming tied at the mere thought of filling Credence in.

It was just… things had been going so well for the younger man.

He no longer spent his days hiding in the dark shadows of the ancient church, hoping to go unnoticed by Mary Lou’s wrath.

Credence no longer had to wander the cold New York streets like a feral stray cat -- helpless at the mercy of any random stranger who felt in the mood for cruelty.

No, now Credence was here with Percival as he should be – comfortable, fed, and enjoying good literature.

Perhaps most importantly, he was finally in the company of someone who cared for him.

And maybe it was stupid – an abandonment of logic in favor of pathetic sentiment – but Percival did not want to ruin their current arrangement with information that would likely have the boy once again reunited with familiar insomnia.

“I’m sorry, Credence,” Percival spoke finally, his voice raspy with exhaustion, “I’ve… had a hard day. We’ve had a couple of break outs, and...”

Credence suddenly bolted upright, eyes widening with alarm. Percival was confused by it until he realized what the boy might have thought.

“…No, no, no Credence. Not Grindelwald,” Percival assured him, although internally he kicked himself.

He hadn’t even considered that this could be Grindelwald’s doing… but as the name rolled off his tongue with that bitter and salty taste that always seemed to accompany it, it now seemed rather obvious.

“No,” Percival continued to speak, hoping Credence didn’t think too much into the brief pause of silence, “Just some low profile criminals, that’s all.”

Credence visibly relaxed, and Percival reached up and rubbed what was meant to be comforting hand through the younger man’s hair.

“Just make sure you keep the door locked, okay? Just in case…”

Percival smiled at Credence, knowing the boy would probably notice it was a strained smile… but it could just as well have been merely a smile burdened with the exhaustion of a heavy work load and _not_ a smiled burdened with the weight of a terrible secret.

“Okay, I’m sorry.”

Whatever Credence was thinking, he seemed to put it away and returned the smile.

As Percival stood from his kneel, Credence changed the subject.

“There’s more dinner in the kitchen if you’re hungry… I made macaroni with the bread crumbs, the way you like.”

Percival could feel the warm tickle of endearment which somewhat soothed his heightening anxiety.

“I’m not hungry.”

He really wasn’t.

“Not for food, at least…” Percival practically purred as he undid his pants, letting them drop freely to his ankles.

On the bed, Credence raised an eyebrow at the older man. Needing no further elaboration, the boy bookmarked the page he was on and discarded the heavy tome on the surface of their nightstand.

Percival pounced on top of Credence, kissing the boy hungrily.

Credence moaned into his mouth, hips already bucking against Percival’s pelvis.

Percival gripped both hips and squeezed down hard before he removed Credence’s pajama bottoms, causing the younger man to yelp in a rather adorable excitement.

There was no underwear beneath the pajama bottoms and Credence’s erect cock greeted him with throbbing eagerness.

Delicious although the sight of it was -- Percival could not help the way the memory of the mysterious pictures flickered across his mind’s eye like the blinding flash of a camera.

Hopefully, it was all just some sick joke.

It probably was.

_Right?_

Percival went down on Credence, gobbling the entirety of the boy’s shaft and painting its length with an experienced and flexible tongue.

And Credence gasped and cried out through quickened and labored breaths, “ _Oh Percy_!”

Percival relished in the sounds of Credence’s euphoria -- because he knew that they were for him and him alone.

This was _his_ Credence -- and anyone that dared to touch him would get what’s coming to them, and then some.

Still -- Percival thought as Credence blew his load into the older man’s waiting mouth – it might not be a bad idea to visit Gellert Grindelwald’s cell tomorrow.

Just to make _triple_ sure the bastard was still there.

 


	3. Office Memos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Percival comes into work to find a rude awakening sitting on his desk. When he comes home later on in the afternoon, he's quite alarmed when he can't find Credence.

When Percival entered his office the following morning, there was another picture.

It lay waiting on his desk… like just another memo from Sally the secretary reminding Percival than Mr. Gilman called and needed an answer on those requests for a department pay increase. Casually sitting by stacks of papers neatly compiled was a moving picture of Percival pushing down on Credence’s naked bottom half --- obviously taken just the other night.

There was no note to accompany it, no threat or demand for a ransom.

It was _just_ the picture – a standard sized photograph of Percival’s deepest darkest secret.

A secret that was a living, breathing human being… and who also happened to be remarkably fragile.

Fragile, yes -- but simultaneously incredibly dangerous.

Percival wondered if this supposed secret admirer understood the tree they were barking up here.

Percival wondered if this individual had any idea of the sheer hell that could break loose if they slipped up and Credence caught them… and alarmed and frightened the boy would burst into a black blizzard of destruction that could swallow New York City whole over the course of a single evening.

Yet that wasn’t the only danger here.

That was all hypothetical…. But the danger posed to Percival’s career (and likewise their livelihood) was _much_ more palpable.

It was a considerably less catastrophic concern, but a concern none the less.

What if someone had come in here before he had clocked in?

It was entirely possible -- Seraphina had the key to his office, as well as some of the more exclusive staff.

What if someone had entered his office before Percival had?

Well obviously _someone_ already did. It was a little late for worrying about that, he bitterly supposed.

Percival looked around for signs of a break in… but not a single object was out of place, and Percival was the kind of person to notice when _anything_ was out of place. The director could tell by a few quick glances that everything was undisturbed.

The only thing wrong here was the presence of a picture that should by _no_ means exist.

In the warmth of the magically heated office, Percival shivered.

 

* * *

 

 

When Percival finally did check in with Gellert Grindelwald he was very safely and very securely still locked in his cell.

Unfortunately Percival was not allowed past the cell gates. Seraphina had made it clear that she did not want any interactions with the dark wizard until a trial could be arranged. And _especially_ not with Percival Graves himself.

But through the transparent and enchanted cell bars that held him – a one way mirror which would only look like another cell wall to the detainee -- Percival could still see him.

He could still glimpse the man who had not too long ago just been another hot shot criminal on his wanted list -- and who soon after upended Percival’s life in ways he had never even imagined would be possible.

Rules aside, Percival itched to interrogate Grindelwald about the pictures. Even if it wasn’t the dark wizard going around snapping shots, it could easily be a cohort or a friend. But Percival knew full well that regardless of any knowledge or involvement all he would get is jeering laughter as an answer… and then maybe some snide remark about Credence just to get under Percival’s skin.

At least the trial would be soon and Percival’s favorite weapon -- the hammer of justice – would strike swiftly upon Grindelwald at long last. Percival took solace in that reminder on a regular basis.

Sadly however, there was still more than enough evil in the world with or without Grindelwald --- and Percival needed to figure out which of said evils suddenly had its eyes on Credence.

* * *

 

When he home the same day, Percival was irate when he realized that the door was left unlocked _again_.

It really was not that strange of an occurrence – for as smart as Credence was, Percival found that he did seem like somewhat of a klutz. A personality trait he had mistaken for nervousness had managed to follow the boy even into this new, happier life.

Still, Percival managed to find it endearing sometimes.

…Emphasis on _sometimes_.

Percival walked up the stairs -- up to their bedroom where he began a scolding lecture before he even had the bedroom door part way open.

But the bedroom was empty.

Percival glanced at the old grandfather clock stationed by the bedroom window.

He was home early, yes – in the sense that Percival had actually come home on time.

Still, Credence was usually home by now -- under Percival’s demand, the boy practically had a 2 PM curfew.

“Credence?”

He called out into the empty bedroom, feeling dumb for doing so.

Already, worry was beginning to taint the clarity of his reasoning.

It was definitely a bad sign.

Percival left the bedroom entrance to check in the kitchen -- but that was devoid of any devilishly handsome obscurials as well.

The director could feel his throat constrict as he began to check rooms that Credence almost never visited.

Percival wondered why the door handles suddenly seemed to all be so slippery, until he finally noticed the warm sweat that had formed veils over his palms.

And then he heard it… a faint whisper of a noise.

For a moment quicker than a blink, a soft thud from somewhere behind Percival as he scanned the darkness of his own wine cellar.

Somewhere from the northwest corner of the hall came a phantom sound that would have been mute to anything else except bats and the well trained ears of Percival Graves.

Blood pressure already high enough to spill over, Percival’s instincts kicked in and he grabbed his wand – turning towards the direction of the miniscule noise with the speed of an owl swooping in on it’s prey.

The tip of his wand was greeted with the skin of Credence’s throat. Credence -- who was suddenly standing right in front of him – flinched from surprise.

“ _Jesus fucking Christ_!” Percival screamed angrily from his alarm – but he wasted no time in pulling Credence into a tight embrace, arms gripping the younger man’s frame like a dying man to a lifeline.

“Where the _fuck_ where you Credence?!? I was so worried…”

Percival was unable to keep the frustration from his voice, and even he knew that to anyone ignorant to the situation he would definitely be overreacting.

Despite his long and eventful life, Percival had never before felt such agony over the absence of another person – but now that he had finally found the momentarily missing individual, a hurricane of foreign yet vivid emotions seemed to be hitting him all at once.

Yet instead of quelling those emotions – instead of Credence pulling away and reprimanding Percival for being too overbearing like the more recent Credence sometimes did – Credence only exacerbated Percival’s concerns, as he noticed the boy was trembling almost _violently_ against him.

Percival stepped back; stomach dropping as he finally saw that Credence appeared to be quite mortified.

“I’m so sorry love,” Percival mumbled a gentle apology, “I didn’t mean to alarm you, I just didn’t know where you had gone and…”

“No, it’s not you Percy,” Credence shook his head, his voice demure and softer than it had been in a very long time.

The boy seemed to hesitate… and patiently, Percival stared back in silent inquisition. When Credence spoke again, he could only stutter and chortle Percival clasped a hand on his right upper arm in an attempt to help steady him.

He dreaded what Credence might say… and even more so the possibility that it was something Percival could have prevented by telling the boy the truth just the other night… only a few hours before.

Yet when the confession did come tumbling from Credence’s lips, it was nothing but a vague – yet still disquieting – statement:

“I’m sorry,” said the younger man through a shaken tone, “I – I _have_ been hiding. Earlier, when I was out… I… I could swear I felt someone following me.”

 


	4. Late Night Visits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Percival goes to Tina's to ask for assistance, but ends up meeting someone else instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you read this chapter, I want you to keep in mind the term "red herrings".

The day after, Percival found himself apparating into Tina’s apartment at nearly ten o clock at night.

He had hoped it wouldn’t come to this.

Even now -- it was doubtful that Tina Goldstein’s knowledge of the situation would prove to be beneficial. However, it was also now _very_ clear that Credence might not be safe under Percival’s protection alone.

And Percival didn’t feel like taking that risk.

The kitchen area in which he materialized was dark, and Percival wondered if Tina might not even be home after all – or asleep, as people tended to be at this hour.

Yet before he could call out the name of either sister, Percival felt the pointed end of a wand suddenly pressed against the back of his neck.

Percival froze -- his breath halting. Slowly – instinctively -- he raised both hands to show that nothing was in them.

“Who are you?” whispered a voice from close behind.

It was a foreign voice… likely a British accent.

For a terrifying second Percival thought it might belong to Grindelwald, but he realized that while it may have been a similar accent, it was most definitely a different voice. This voice was a bit higher, somewhat more nasally. And yes, it was an impressive skill to deduce all that from the whispering of three short words – but as we’ve established, Percival Graves was an overall impressive man.

“I’m Percival Graves, Director of Magical Security at the Magical Congress of the United States of America,” Percival answered in an unfazed tone, hoping his credentials might give the stranger some pause, as they so often did.

“Who are _you_?” Percival shot the question back at the man with his wand on his neck, “Are you supposed to be here? Where is Tina? Have you done something with her?”

“No, sir,” the wand departed from the back of Percival’s neck, and Percival did not miss a beat as he rotated on the spot and withdrew his own wand with the swift motion of an experienced knight unsheathing a sword.

As the lights were still out, it was still difficult to see the would-be assailant.

Yet something about the sharp features visible in the kitchen’s darkness looked vaguely familiar, and it was Percival who then hesitated.

“Newt Scamander,” said the familiar stranger, “We’ve met before, actually. It was when you were… well, you know.”

Indeed Percival _did_ know.

Out of all the documentation he had read -- out of all the testimonies he had listened to since he was liberated – Newt Scamander’s name was one he probably heard more than anyone else’s.

Truth be told, Percival had always been particularly curious about the fact that – based on what he had heard at least – the younger Scamander was the first to chase after Credence when the obscurus had been unleashed.

It was odd thing to willingly jump into such a dangerous situation for a person you barely knew.

“Yes Newt, so I’ve been informed,” Percival half smiled, although he was kicking himself inwardly at the awkward response, “I didn’t realize you were in town.”

“Oh yes,” Newt’s silhouette shifted slightly, “I wanted to check on Tina, so how… things were.”

“So… why are you lurking around in the dark?” Percival asked abruptly, probably with more of a suspicious tone than he had actually meant to use.

“Well we were… sleeping, and I heard something…” Newt tilted his head towards the dimly lit hallway that led to the bedrooms.

Only then did Percival noticed that Newt was in a very thin set of pajamas… both of which looked as though they had been worn in a great hurry.

“Ah.”

“Yep.”

“Well, I suppose I can come back another time if you are….em… preoccupied,” Percival stepped backwards.

He was ready to apparate again -- but Newt grabbed his right wrist suddenly and _dear god_ was Tina’s boyfriend lucky that it had not startled Percival enough to stun him.  

“I’m very sorry, Mr. Graves,” Newt muttered nervously, “But, um… how _has_ Credence been?”

A corner of Percival’s mouth twitched.

“Tina’s told you, I take it?” Percival asked through gritted teeth.

Sure, he had expected Tina would tell Newt that Credence had lived after all – but he had _hoped_ she would know better than to tell Newt (or anyone else for that matter) who was hiding him.

They really needed to arrange a secret keeper.

“No, actually,” Newt admitted in a sheepish voice, “I ran into Credence the other morning.”

“Did you?” Percival wondered if Newt could see the forming glare he could feel forming on his own face, “Did you speak to him?”

“Briefly,” Newt shrugged, “I couldn’t say if he really recognized me. He seemed in a great hurry… scared, almost. So I’ve been really quite worried since, you know.”

A few seconds of silence passed as Percival studied the man who _still_ held his wrist – scrutinizing the younger man through what was sure to be a piercing stare.

_The only one who chased after him..._

“Why do you care so much, Mr. Scamander?” Percival asked in the cool tone he often used in interrogations. It was the tone that had almost a faint purr to it.

A purr like the kind cats make when they think they have spotted a particularly juicy fat rat.

Percival wasn’t unaware of just how suspicious such an answer sounded to a question that _could_ be entirely innocent.

If he were Newt, it would have sent all kinds of alarm bells going off at once.

Yet what Newt would respond with was almost just as eyebrow raising.

“Are you implying that I shouldn’t, Director?”, came the soft yet clipped remark.

Percival growled before he abruptly yanked his wrist from the skinny fingers that were tight around it.

“I’m just curious as to why you seem to be so concerned for Credence, from what I’ve heard,” Percival muttered under his breath, “You had no prior relation to the boy before you came to New York, correct?”

“Well yes that is true,” Newt admitted almost sheepishly, “But Credence is someone who is clearly in need of help, and I suppose I’ve always had a soft spot for the helpless.”

“Yes well,” Percival stuck his nose up in a rather comical assertion of dominance, “Thank god he’s not helpless anymore… not with me, at least.”

“Yes, Mr. Graves…”

Even in the lack of light, Percival could still see the humorless smile that spread across Newt’s face.

“Thank God for that.”


	5. Something Like

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Credence and Percival talk. Another photograph arrives, but something else is attached.

Over the next week, Percival made about 100 upgrades to the security enchantments that guarded his brownstone.

For three of those days – in fact – Percival took a half day at work just to do so, which is a shocking statement to make to anyone even remotely acquainted with Percival Graves and his legendary work ethic.

Where there had once been only one lock there were now four. And where there had once been white window curtains -- there were now midnight black curtains – _always_ pulled down.

All this – and Percival _still_ had yet to tell Credence about the small compilation of photographs which now covered everything from nude portraits to depictions of Credence simply biting into a bagel over the dining table.

And it was hardly as though Credence didn’t notice the drastic increase in paranoid behavior.

“There’s something you’re not telling me,” Credence sulked as they lay in bed together, ready for another night of both men pretending to sleep.

“I’ve told you all I could, Credence,” Percival sighed, his voice was muffled by the fact that his face was halfway in is pillow, “I’m not lying, there _are_ dangerous wizards out there.”

“There’s always dangerous wizards out there,” Credence was quick to retort, his face only inches away from Percival’s, “I really doubt that that’s changed all that much. It’s you who’s acting oddly and you’re not telling me why.”

Percival fought the grimace that was forming – the knee jerk reaction to the powerful sense of frustration that made his fingers tingle with an itch for violence.

He _had_ told Credence that he had reason to believe people were targeting him specifically. Yet it had stayed at that vague explanation - with Percival too preoccupied with worry and unrest to think of a better story.

On one hand… he really didn’t want to lie to Credence either way.

But the other option – the obvious choice to tell the truth – was somehow something that Percival just couldn’t muster.

Percival felt violated himself, having only appeared in two out of the maybe eight photographs there now were.

And he desperately wished to protect Credence from that same sense of violation.

It wasn’t lost on Percival that Credence was likely strong enough to handle it at this point – after everything the boy has been though.

…but Lord did it kill him to add even a pebble onto that enormous mountain of accumulated pain.

“Just trust me okay?” Percival whispered as he closed the space between them, grazing their lips together lightly. “I promise you everything is going to be alright.”

Percival pressed his puckered lips firmly onto Credence’s… but Credence hardly kissed back.

In fact, Percival noticed that Credence actually withdrew a little.

It was the first time an affectionate gesture had been met with such indifference – without the starved eagerness for love that Credence was known for – and it stung like the crack of a barbed whip.

Perhaps the hurt was palpable on the older man’s expression, as Credence mumbled soon after, “Can you really blame me for feeling nervous when you seem different? I’m still terrified that one day I’ll wake up and you won’t be _you_ anymore… or that I’ll find out you were always him all along. I still have nightmares where I discover there was never a real Percival Graves after all.”

Percival felt sick at the raw honesty.

It was a surprise to hear Credence speak so bluntly -- but the context of the admission didn’t come as a shock at all, and that only made things worse.

The boy still didn’t trust him… at least, not completely.

Not yet.

The terrible thing was that Percival couldn’t blame the boy even if he tried.

Percival wanted to assure him that that would never happen – but simultaneously, he didn’t want to risk the possibility of yet another broken promise -- slim though the chances may be.

“I am entirely, and _totally_ me,” Percival chose to respond with instead, “And I will do everything in my power to make sure it stays that way.”

“How would I know if you fail?” Credence asked him with a soft, quiet tone that still managed to drip with a helpless desperation.

“Hmmm…” Percival took a moment to contemplate the question.

With everything going on, the idea of another attempt at stealing his identity occurring hadn’t crossed his mind… but he could easily see why it would be haunting Credence.

Percival was all the younger man really had in the world… both magical, and non.

If there was no more Percival – for whatever reason – Credence would be alone.

And what a terrifying concept that was indeed.

“I’ll enchant my scarf,” Percival suggested after a brief pause of silence, “Anyone who might attempt to make even a decent imitation of me would know that I always wear that scarf…so I’ll enchant it so that if anyone who isn’t me touches it, it will turn black. We’ll try it out tomorrow.”

“That’s…actually a pretty good idea,” Credence said with some surprise in his voice.

“I’d like to think I’m full of those,” Percival grinned sheepishly.

Again, he moved in to kiss the boy.

This time Credence received him with that familiar thirst -- that tangible yearn that filled Percival with a strange kind of validation that he had never known until Credence.

It was a personal kind of validation that he had never felt through promotions or trophies.

It was almost something like happiness.

 

* * *

 

Another picture.

In a small box of white borderlines, Credence was standing with his back to the hidden camera.

He leaned over their bathroom sink -- his bottom half covered by a simple white towel. His hair sopping wet, Credence inspected himself in the oval mirror that hung on the wall.

From the waist up, his top half was completely exposed.

The landscape of his back were covered in scars and raised skin – each mark born from horror stories that even Percival had yet to hear the full extent of.

Multiple and grotesque, the imprints of his traumas almost made Credence’s back look like some demented work of art on a lanky and sallow canvas.

But nonetheless -- it was a back that Percival relished in messaging and caressing.

And it was a back that should be meant for his eyes alone.

Percival was close to throwing the photograph in the shredder -- pausing to quell the nausea that threatened to spill out onto his office desk – when he noticed there was something else stuck to the back.

Just another bit of office mail?

He wondered.

He _hoped_.

Anything but another picture… _anything_ but that.

Yet…. it was neither office mail nor photograph.

Percival plucked the note that was taped to the back of the picture -- and in a vaguely familiar script he read the words:

_Meet me by the bench on the northwest corner of Central Park tonight_

_3:00 AM_

_If you fail to show, copies of every photograph I have sent you and more will find its way to every MACUSA employee by tomorrow morning, and your career will be finished_

_Come alone, or face the same consequences_


	6. Motives

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Percival goes to the meeting spot and has more than one unexpected encounter

_We’re doing a stake out tonight… please don’t wait up for me._

_Make sure everything is locked, and don’t leave the house._

_I love you._

_-PG_

It was the note he had sent home to Credence during his lunch hour – a lunch hour during which Percival did not have any lunch, for he did not have any apatite thanks to the meeting he anticipated with an ominous dread.

Finally – at the very least – he had a lead.

An anonymous note with a threatening invitation.

Still, the note did nothing to clarify a motive.

The note still revealed nothing about what the bastard wanted, and what it had to do with Credence. There had been a threat to his career, and Percival wondered if this blackmail had been arranged by someone after his job.

If only Credence hadn’t been the bait attached to the pointed hook, Percival would have never gone.

If only it were simply nude photographs of Percival _himself_ that were in danger of being leaked --- Percival could have disregarded it all with maybe even some bemusement.

_Go ahead, you prick. They’ll probably all have a good laugh at them anyway._

Yet sadly, that was not the case.

It was Credence who was at risk here… not only at risk for terrible humiliation, but also risk for exposure of someone whose remnants should have been little more than the ashes at the old train station that was still under repairs.

And that was exactly what Percival planned to tell this “secret admirer”.

Whatever the hell this is _\-- just leave the boy out of it._

As the hours passed, Percival could feel himself growing more and more nerve wracked. Gradually on edge.

By the end of regular hours of operation, he could tell it was beginning to show. His coworkers eyed him warily after curt responses, and the few employees he was on friendly-ish terms with kept their distance.

Percival decided to try and bide his time by filling in late and tedious paperwork – but he couldn’t say what he had written down for various parts for various forms.

For while his hand moved in elegant and practiced strokes, his mind could only think of one thing:

Was Credence safe right now?

And later in the evening – as he hung around an unpopular overnight No Maj diner near MACUSA – Percival only then wondered with nervous speculation:

What if this was just a ploy to abduct Credence when he’s home alone?

Percival kicked himself for not having the foresight to ask Tina to watch over Credence while he was gone.

But Tina was long gone – probably home to that Newt Scamander --- and it was 2:30 AM, which was an hour that was _far_ too late to ask for a favor from a coworker (especially one who you at one point demoted).

No – Percival knew he was on his own on this one. The only thing he could hope to depend on now was the strength of his magic and the prowess of his intimidating persona.

And his need to protect a boy who’s never known the meaning of protection – or the comfort of it.

The comfort of knowing that there was someone out there who was willing to put their life down on the line for yours.

It was the kind of comfort that Percival felt Credence deserved…. to say the least.

 

* * *

 

2:55 AM.

Percival was standing by the trunk of bulky maple tree --- one that hides his frame and allows him a clear view of the bench that the note had specified.

His ears strained for the softest sound.

The tips of his fingers were tired from the maintained grip on his wand.

His eyes prowled the perfectly serene setting of a clear evening in Central Park.

2:56 PM.

Crunch.

Percival spun around as he heard the subtle crunch of a leaf being stepped on by a light footstep.

By the time he had done a complete 360, his wand was already extended out in front of him -- a stunning spell pulsating as it traveled to the wand’s tip.

“Woah!”

A British male voice yelled out, and for a horrified moment Percival thought it might be Newt.

It even looked like Newt, somewhat… but definitely much less wiry and much more – well -- _manly_.

“Thesus, dear god man what the hell are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same!” Thesus Scamander smacked Percival’s upper right arm playfully, and Percival would have been much more light hearted about the action if he was not scheduled to meet a perverted stalker any minute now.

He smacked the hand away, and Thesus stepped backwards in surprise.

“Seriously,” Percival whispered in the hopes of not giving away their location, “What the fuck are you doing here? At this hour?”

In the darkness, Percival could see his old friend throw his hands up in mock surrender.

“I was in town with my brother, thought you knew,” Thesus shrugged, “Currently doing a bit of beer hopping with the boys from up north.”

He gestured to a corner to the south of where they stood.

Faintly, Percival could make out a gaggle of men huddled together, seemingly in conversation.

“We were just taking a walk in the park when I saw that stupid scarf of yours and found you hiding behind a tree,” Thesus chuckled, “Thought I’d see what you were up to. I was going to write you, really but…”

“It’s fine, Thesus,” Percival interrupted the other man’s ramblings in a sharp tone, “Go away now, I have to meet someone here. MACUSA business.”

Thesus cocked his head in bewilderment, “But don’t you usually have a partner with you on stake outs? For back up?”

“Leave!” Percival barked loudly at Thesus, far more harshly than he had intended.

In the distance, Percival could see a few of his friends look up and over at them from curiosity.

Thesus inhaled sharply, “Very well then. I’ll leave you to your business. Sorry to have bothered you, Graves.”

Percival still managed to feel a small twinge of guilt as he watched Thesus turn to leave with somewhat sunken shoulders… but this _truly_ was the worst possible time. And if this was some kind of ambush, he wouldn’t have wanted to risk Thesus getting caught up in it – helpful though he may have been.

In the dull light of a nearby lamppost, Percival checked his wrist watch.

It was 3:04 -- but no one else had come around.

Frustrated beyond words, Percival made a gamble and he tentatively approached the bench that he had been eyeing all night.

Perhaps his expected company was waiting to see him there first as well, before coming out of hiding.

And as he approached the back of the wooden seat, Percival did find _something_ sitting there – but it was not a person, but rather an envelope.

Slowly, Percival reached down and lifted it from the seat.

Like previous ones had been, it was an unmarked envelope with absolutely no markings that could give clue to its origins.

Percival looked behind him to double check that Thesus and his friends had truly left – and with no other people to be found in his range of vision, he opened it with trembling hands.

It had only two contents:

An older picture of Credence smiling over an ice cream sundae… the first time Percival had introduced Credence to ice cream.

Percival instantly recognized the fond memory and it licked at his spirit like the relief resting one’s head on a cool pillow on a hot summers night.

The other item?

A note.

It was another note that read:

_I know by now you’re going crazy from wonder what it is I want from you, Mr. Graves._

_You probably expect that it’s some great sum of money, or classified information that only the Director had the privilege to know…._

_But I don’t want any of that._

_What I want is much more simple, entirely free, and something I’m sure would be an easy task for someone like you:_

_I want you to hurt him._

_I want you to break him until that obscurus in him unleashes in full force._

_Hurt him, Mr. Graves… or I will._

_And don’t for even a second think that you can protect him from me._

 

 


	7. All Around Me Are Familiar Faces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Credence is feeling uneasy. Percival finally seeks help.

Hurt him.

How in the hell was he supposed to hurt Credence?

Had they meant physically? Emotionally?

Not that Percival felt he was capable of either one.

And damn the coward for not even having the gall to show up and face him.

Percival was annoyed by it… but it was nothing compared to the outrage that flared inside of him when he apparated to his own front door -- and found yet _another_ note stuck right in the center of it.

_You have a week._

…And that’s all it said.

Either the person had come here themselves to plaster this note on his door, or this individual owned a particularly swift owl.

Either way, Percival once again found himself overcome with chills that had nothing to do with the surrounding temperature.

Nervous of what he might find inside, Percival undid his own locks quietly.

As the heavy door shifted itself open – even from the moderate distance – Percival could hear the sound of soft sobs drifting from the bedroom.

Sighs and whimpers that were almost melodic in a sinister way.

Had they broken in after all?

Percival sprinted as fast as he could; with the swift yet silent gait of an approaching panther.

Yet when he reached the bedroom doorway -- Percival dropped the attempt at subtlety and barged inside with a strong kick to the door.

His wand out and his heart pounding, Percival met Credence with the expectation of finding some maniacal intruder in his company.

But all he found was Credence, alone – and he came to find that the only reason for the younger man’s tears was precisely that same solace.

“I had a terrible dream,” Credence whimpered meekly as Percival went to the bed and attempted to pull the boy into his arms, “You never came back. And when I woke up, and you still weren’t here… I was afraid…”

Percival sighed deeply, “I’m so sorry, Credence. I’m here now, I’m okay.”

Still trembling and crying softly into his chest, Percival knew that he had hardly convinced the boy of much.

Desperate to find something that would cheer the boy up, he pulled at the scarf around his neck and under his breath he whispered, “Look.”

Percival used a clump of the scarf’s fabric to wipe off the tears that were still streaming down jaunted cheekbones.

As though Credence’s tears were made of some kind of ink -- the fabric that touched the younger man’s skin and teardrops turned to a midnight black that pooled out and stained the scarf’s original navy-blue color.

Credence stared, entranced by the simple enchantment.

At least for those few seconds -- the nightmares were forgotten.

“You did it,” Credence whispered, his eyes still on the discolored scarf that had always looked so regal.

The boy lifted a hand to touch the fabric tentatively with his fingers -- and instantaneously the places where the tips of his fingers grazed turned black, as though his fingers had been covered in soot and ash.

Percival nodded and gently he smiled, “Its only something small for now… but please know that all this time I’ve been spending at work… I dedicate as much of it as I can to making sure much of the same mistakes won’t be repeated again. I’m always fighting to keep you safe, love.”

Slowly, Credence shook his head and Percival was confused by the reaction.

“Do you really think,” the younger man sulkily whispered, “That I’m only this worried about my own safety? It would kill me to lose you, Percy. I can’t really say what I might do if something were to ever…”

“Don’t talk like that!” Percival snapped suddenly, disrupting the solemn yet soft ambiance of their conversation thus far.

Credence winced and pulled away, but the vague implication of what Credence had been suggesting only added fuel to an inferno that had been gradually rising since he got that first anonymous note.

“I don’t care what happens,” Percival growled lowly -- sounding quite menacing in the darkness of their bedroom, “You must _never_ hurt yourself Credence, you must promise me that. If you do that… slit your wrists and bleed to death like my mother did… this will have all been for nothing.”

Softly, Percival heard Credence gasp next to him.

“I’m so sorry,” Credence mewled, “I had no idea… I just meant it as an off handed comment, I’ve never seriously considered….”

“Just,” Percival interrupted Credence – partly because it was almost 6:00 AM at this point and they really needed to get some sleep – but also because he knew that what Credence was about to say was a downright lie, “…Just _please_ , I need you to hang in there for me, okay?”

He turned to face the boy again. Credence’s profoundly beautiful face was barely highlighted by the slivers of moonlight that peeked out from the edges of the window curtains, but it graced with a ghostly glow that was more than a little breathtaking.

Percival sighed.

“Don’t trust anyone else unless I say so, and just try to have some faith in me… and I promise that I will do everything I can to not only make sure we’re both safe… but _together_. We will be safe _and_ together.”

Credence only smiled at him in sad kind of way – in a way that acknowledged the promise as touching and sweet – but also in a way that led Percival to believe that the boy was thinking the same thought in his head:

Yeah sure… that was something Grindelwald would say.

 

* * *

 

 

By the afternoon of the next day, Percival had reached his decision.

He wasn’t going to do it.

If that meant having to do some heavy damage control over some explicit photographs, so be it.

At this point in his life, Credence was everything to him – and Percival had already settled on the idea that purpose of his remaining life was to see to it that Credence would know some much-deserved love.

Hurting him in anyway was out of the question.

Still… the last line of that note lingered in the back of his mind with a sinister echo.

_Don’t think you can protect him from me._

It could be an empty threat, but this individual has already gone above and beyond proving that they were a very skilled wizard.

While Percival was strong in his resolve to disobey the command... he still became consumed with anxiety when considering potential retaliations.

All hypothetical -- but entirely possible.

Anything was possible. Above all else, Percival should have learned that by now.

Percival eventually surrendered to the probability that he wasn’t going to be able to this alone.

So again, he set off for Tina’s after work.

When Percival appeared in the alleyway next to Tina’s apartment building with a soft pop, he saw something rather odd.

A man in a brown suit leaned against the street sign at the nearest crosswalk on the street to the north of where he faced.

Around his neck, like a gaudy necklace, was the tattered lanyard for a large camera.

It looked to be a No Maj camera… but still something about the man looked familiar, and it filled Percival with a vengeful rage for this person he didn’t even know.

He even thought to approach the man – ask why he was standing there, or what he was doing with that camera.

But Percival only turned the corner to sneak into Tina’s apartment, thinking better of it.

If he were to start interrogating every single person who owned a camera in NYC, Credence would be murdered in cold blood before he got a single lead.

This time, Percival used the front door of Tina’s apartment to avoid a repeat of his previous – and rather awkward – late night visit.

He knocked, and Percival waited patiently.

And when the door swung open -- he once again found himself in front of a disheveled Newton Scamander.

 _Perhaps_ , Percival mused, _it was simply the way Newt always looked._

“Mr. Graves,” Newt greeted him breathlessly.

“Newt,” Percival nodded curtly, “I hope I’m not interrupting anything… _again_.”

A bright flush appeared on the red headed man’s cheeks, “Oh no, Tina and Queenie are both out on errands. I was just… making tea.”

“I see,” Percival grunted, annoyed at the absence of his intended company (as well as the company he got instead).

He considered lambasting Newt for failing to tell him his older brother was in town, making some other meaningless small talk, and then abruptly leaving having remembered some urgent nothing.

Yet the memory of their last encounter – the way Newt had halted Percival just to ask about Credence, and the sincere worry in his tone --- lead Percival to say instead:

“Credence is in danger… and I need your help.”


	8. Coffee Date?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Newt and Percival discuss their options. Later that evening, Percival notices someone familiar yet again.

Percival had explained the situation to Newt.

He told him everything… stopping short of actually _showing_ Newt the pictures.

Newt asked twice to see them, but all Percival would grant him were vague descriptions. Evidently, however, these vague descriptions were enough to earn a scowl at the director.

“So… you _are_ sleeping with him?”

Percival puffed out his chest, eyes glaring as he snappily replied, “Yes Newt, I am. Credence is over 18, entirely consenting, and quite frankly either way its none of your business. And… you’re missing the point.”

Newt shook his head in disapproval but still he agreed, “Yes, I suppose you’re right… we have more pressing issues on our hands _for right now_. Does Tina know?”

“No,” Percival frowned, “I keep trying to tell her but I keep running into… well… _you_ instead. To be perfectly honest… now that I’ve told you, well… I was really trying to keep the knowledge of the situation contained…”

“If Tina gets involved, Queenie likely will as well,” Newt verbalized the implication.

Percival simply nodded.

“Should he not come with me then?” Newt ventured, “I can take him back to Europe with me and maybe he’d be safer there. For a time, of course.”

Percival pursed his lips.

He suppressed the irrational flash of anger at the suggestion – at the idea of Credence being separated from him.

A part of him _did_ agree that this was the best idea so far -- but it was a small voice that was promptly smashed out like a bothersome cockroach.

“No…” Percival tried to convince Newt (as well as himself), “Credence is safest with me. Distance aside… I think Credence would have a very difficult time in a foreign place and away from me. He’s very… attached.”

Newt quirked an eyebrow upward and Percival fidgeted as he reminded the magizoologist, “Well, I don’t think I need to explain to you the dangers of what might happen when Credence gets emotionally overwhelmed.”

Newt sighed with a frustrated sulk of his shoulders, “I suppose you do have a point there, but _what_ in merlin’s name do you expect me to do about this then? How is it you want me to help?”

“I need you to just watch over Credence… and my house. Just… whenever I’m not there.”

“Seriously?” Newt couldn’t contain the scoff that slipped from his mouth, “No offense, Mr. Graves… I am very worried for Credence as well, but you can’t really expect that I have nothing to do but serve as your body guard all day.”

“I realize… I know you can’t do it 24/7,” Percival pleaded in a rare show of sincere desperation, “But just whenever you can, check on him for me. I’ll pay you. You can buy hats for all your creatures or whatever the hell else you would do with a lot of money….”

“Fine, fine, Mr. Graves…” Newt halted the other man’s rambling, something akin to pity in his eyes, “I’ll do my best to drop in whenever I can. You must know though, you _must_ tell him the extent of what’s been happening soon. If he finds out on his own…”

“He’ll hate me,” Percival finished the sentence for him, a subtle strain in his voice, “I know… I really had just hoped I could find the bastard first. It’s not that we don’t have the expertise or the magic to do some deep tracing but all those options would involve handing over those photographs to someone else…”

“And you don’t want anyone knowing you’ve been diddling someone half your age,” Newt quipped.

“I don’t want Credence’s privacy violated!” Percival snapped testily, his arms crossing over his own chest.

Newt took a step backwards, but said no retort.

“I’ll be over to check on him tomorrow,” Newt stated after a rather awkward pause of silence, “I need to do a few things for the creatures and then I’ll come by to…erm… how was it you wanted me to do this, Mr. Graves?”

“I just want you to stick by the house and see if you can see anyone lurking in the nearby trees or bushes or whatever,”

“Should I make my presence known to Credence?”

“Preferably not,” Percival mumbled, his eyes wandering to the floor below.

“Understood, Mr. Graves,” Newt nodded.

The Brit appeared to be on the verge of saying something more --- but apparently thought better of it.

Without warning or farewell, Newt abruptly shut the door between them.

 

* * *

 

 

After Percival had returned to his own home later that evening – after kisses had been exchanged, dinner had been eaten, and subjects had been avoided – Percival took spontaneous glance at tiny gap between the curtains of the bedroom window.

That same man in the brown suit was standing on the sidewalk across the street – staring up right back at Percival --- the same large and gaudy camera around his neck.

Suddenly fuming, Percival turned to leave the house and approach him.

“Woah, where are you going?” Credence asked as he sat up from his side of the bed.

“I forgot something outside,” Percival mumbled the weak excuse as he nearly sprinted down to the first floor.

The man was _still_ standing there – even as Percival came bursting out of his own front door.

He was still staring up at the bedroom window -- as though fixated on something that shouldn’t be visible to a No Maj.

In fact, he only looked down when Percival had seized him by a fistful of his shirt collar --the director angrily demanding, “Who are you and why are you following me?”

“Woah, mister!” the other man put his hands up in a show of surrender, “I don’t know what’s got your bee in a bonnet but I haven’t been following you. You got the wrong guy!”

“Bullshit, I saw you earlier on 7th!” Percival barked, too unnerved to be subtle, “What are you doing with that camera?”

“I’m with the paper!” the other man squeaked, the pull on his collar growing tighter as the smaller man tried to step away, “Langdon Shaw, you may have heard of me?”

Percival inhaled sharply.

The Shaws.

He had long forgotten about the younger son of the influential Henry Shaw Sr. – the man who he had last seen vowing revenge on Credence for the death of his eldest.

They were all supposed to have forgotten everything by means of the swooping evil venom.

Then again… maybe there were some things that not even the swooping evil _could_ make you forget.

Like – say -- the death of a loved one.

“Why are you here, Landon Shaw?” Percival growled, taking a small step backwards at  least.

Langdon looked hesitant to respond, and for a moment Percival thought he might make a run for it instead.

Yet after a brief period of silence, Langdon admitted, “There’s someone who lives there, with you… your son perhaps? I think I know him from somewhere, but I’m not sure why.”

Langdon laughed nervously, as though this were all a funny joke.

“I’ve wanted to approach him, but I don’t have much to go on. Bit of a creepy way to introduce yourself...”

Langdon extended an arm as though pretending to shake someone’s hand and said in a comically low voice, “’Hi, I’m Langdon, I’m not sure that we’ve met but I can’t shake the feeling that we have and I’d like to get to get to the bottom of why.’”

Langdon grinned, again laughing before he asked, “Would… would you mind terribly if I asked your son out for a coffee date or something, sometime?”

But then the grin fell as he realized that Percival was not reciprocating the journalist’s smile – let alone vocalizing a response.

After a few more seconds of pure silence passed -- Percival decked Langdon Shaw squarely in the nose.

Langdon toppled down, the camera audibly breaking as it hit the sidewalk.

From the front door of their brownstone, Credence – dressed in only a bathrobe – screamed from across the empty street, “Oh my gosh Percy…what are you doing?!?”


	9. 4:00 AM Scotch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Credence is growing more wary, and simultaneously more distant. Seraphina mentions some interesting news.

Langdon Shaw was thoroughly obliviated – camera magically repaired, and broken nose promptly healed.

Percival even took the liberty of bringing him to the doorstep of a nearby hospital (but not before emptying the camera of all its contents).

Credence – however – was not so quick to forget.

While the boy helped him cover up the crime, the younger man eyed him a nervous kind of hesitation that Percival had only seen in the earliest days of their cohabitation.

“Why did you do that, Percy?” the inevitable question finally came once they had arrived back in their bedroom, both men exhausted and tired.

“I believed he was the person who had been following you from before,” Percival admitted the partial truth -- but he knew that he would not have any good excuses for the question that would undoubtedly follow:

“On what basis?”

“He admitted to following you,” the older man mumbled in response, pouring himself a glass of scotch in spite of the hour.

“Seriously?” Credence was obviously taken aback by the answer, eyes widening in a somewhat welcomed break from the narrow-eyed expression of scrutiny they had been frozen in all evening.

“Yes… I think he liked you,” Percival turned around from his scotch fixing, slightly curious to see the boy’s reaction.

Almost on cue, there was a pink tinge that colored Credence’s cheekbones.

The boy was always so quick to becoming flushed – but it was a reaction Percival had only seen reserved for himself.

Seeing Credence getting flustered over another man did not do very well for Percival’s nerves.

He took a long swig of scotch --- the typical burn of the alcohol feeling oddly numb in his throat.

The mattress groaned as Percival finally sat back down on it, next to Credence. And beside him, Credence quietly mumbled the obvious.

“That didn’t mean you had to go and punch him…”

“Yes, I realize…” Percival agreed begrudgingly.

He leaned to his side and placed a hand over the small of Credence’s neck, rubbing it with a firm grip, “…but you _do_ know I’m the jealous type, don’t you?”

Percival tried to smile at the younger man, but the boy did not smile back.

When Percival tried putting his free hand on the top of Credence’s nearest thigh, Credence abruptly shifted – he flopped over to lay down facing the opposite side, stunning Percival with this newfound defiance.

“’Mmm tired…” Credence tried to sound groggy, but Percival knew that the boy was overexaggerating the tiredness in his voice.

Yet he wouldn’t push the boy.

“That’s alright,” Percival sighed, “Goodnight, Credence…”

He bent down to plant a prolonged kiss on the top of Credence’s scalp… but although he waited for a few good minutes, Percival received no further responses from the boy rather than the sounds of an uneasy slumber.

 

* * *

 

“What were you doing last night, Mr. Graves?”

Seraphina asked abruptly at the first moment they had alone the following day.

The board room was clearing, and it was only Percival who had lagged behind in the post meeting shuffle.

His head snapping upright to meet the president’s gaze, he tried to answer quickly, “Wh -- why do you ask?”

Seraphina shrugged as she got up from her own chair and walked slowly towards where he was sitting, “It’s a bit hard not to notice when your director keeps falling asleep every five seconds of an important meeting…”

Percival grimaced, “I was… entertaining last night.”

Seraphina quirked an eyebrow, looking almost amused.

“A date?”

“Perhaps…” Percival mumbled, his eyes dropping to his lap like a schoolboy trying to explain why he had failed to do the homework.

“I was only concerned,” Seraphina crossed her arms over her chest, “You know I’ve been hearing some interesting rumors.”

“Rumors?” Percival repeated the word in a grumble, hoping the long meeting desk hid the way his fists tightened over his lap ever so slightly.

“You remember the Barebone boy, don’t you?” Seraphina asked in a tone that sounded perfectly innocent --- but Percival’s paranoia could only hear it as a taunt.

Percival chuckled darkly, “How can I forget? The obscurial who Grindelwald used me to manipulate… of course I remember him.”

“Yes, well…” Seraphina lowered her voice a few octaves, “We have reason to believe that he may have survived…”

“And what reasons are those, Seraphina?”

Percival finally looked up at his president -- the tall woman who was the only other person in MACUSA known for being intimidating without even trying.

“I was sent an anonymous picture in the mail,” Seraphina explained, “Might not be him… hair’s quite a bit longer, and the picture was taken from very far off. Not clear at all. Still, I’d like you to keep an eye out.”

Percival swallowed down the hysterical laugh that tried to leap from his throat – the humorless laugh that could only come of such terrible situational irony.

“Of course,” the director rasped out instead, nodding weakly.

Seraphina frowned -- studying him in complete silence for a long pause.

Percival met her gaze and kept it locked, his whole body straining to refrain from nervous body language.

Finally, she stated, “If the Barebone boy _did_ live, he might have it out for you Graves. You should be careful. If you do run into him or he seeks you out, I grant you permission to kill on sight.”

Upon those words, Percival could not contain the soft hiss that slipped out from gritted teeth.

He wanted to scream:

_Wasn’t once enough?_

But if Seraphina noticed the break in his façade, she did not comment.

In fact, she smiled.

Maybe playfully.

Maybe mockingly.

…and _finally_ , Seraphina took her leave while saying, “And no more dates for you, Mr. Graves! Clearly you’ve gotten too old for such things.”

Percival just stared ahead at the empty seat across from him --- unblinking, even as the board room door shut close behind him.

If only he could have found any humor in this at all, Percival thought to himself… he would wholeheartedly have to agree.


	10. Don't Kill The Messenger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First, a lull of safety. 
> 
> Next, a terrible awakening.

It had been over a week since the meeting that never came to be and the ominous warning plastered on their front door – and for a brief period Percival allowed himself to believe that maybe it _had_ been a bluff after all.

Credence had finally begun to relax around him again. The younger man seemed more and more convinced (or at least desperate to believe) that what had happened with Langdon Shaw had been a spontaneous outburst and nothing more.

Everyone was entitled to lose their minds occasionally, _right_?

And Newt had dutifully reported that he could observe no unusual activity during his routine inspections --- for which Percival, true to his word, paid the magizoologist a handsome sum of money.

But best of all:

Percival did not receive another photograph – nor did anyone else.

It was not until Percival was sitting at his desk -- in the middle of auditing employee timesheets – that the bowtruckle appeared.

Percival hadn’t realized what it was at first -- figuring his eyes had grown so tired of looking at the same things, to the point where he had begun to hallucinate that the office plants were moving.

But the very much alive bit of vegetation scrambled onto the pile of time cards hurriedly, seemingly desperate to get his attention.

With its tiny arms, it aggressively shoved a folded note under Percival’s nose.

“Alright, alright,” Percival plucked the note from its grasp as used his other hand to gently push the tiny green man off the timecards, “Just get off these papers, they’re very important.”

The bowtruckle looked irked but stepped aside anyway as Percival unfolded its delivered message.

The contents of said message were two very short words:

 ** _Come here_**.

Percival had never seen Newt Scamander’s handwriting -- but somehow, he instantly understood that it was from the Brit.

Well…. who _else_ would seriously send a bowtruckle in place of an owl?

Percival tucked the note into his coat’s breast pocket. He gave a curt nod of thanks to the bowtruckle, unsure if he was supposed to thank it as though it were a person.

Just as he was quick to realize the sender’s identity, Percival was quick to understand two other things about this message:

  1. That Newt was somewhere at their house.
  2. That something must be _terribly_



And so, Percival wasted no time in apparating off to his own front door – time cards and various time sensitive documents of importance blown away like discarded flyers in the magical whiplash.

 

* * *

 

 

When Percival could not find Newt anywhere around the house, he made haste as he bolstered into the house and up the stairway once it was evident that the bottom floor was vacant as well.

Percival disliked how quiet it was – but he did not want to call out any names in case there were any intruders or fiends lurking in the shadows. He did wish Newt’s summons had come with a bit more clarification as to whether there was immediate danger.

Just in case, his hand gripped tightly around his wand under the length of his coat.

Percival reached the top of the stairs and saw that the bedroom door was part way open.

Percival peered inside the gap slowly and carefully --- but already Newt Scamander was staring right back at him.

The magizoologist was standing in front of their shared queen-sized bed – but from just behind him Percival could see Credence laid out on the bed with his back turned to the door.

Newt appeared somber, and Percival glanced at Credence again just to make extra sure he could still see the slender frame breathing.

“What happened?” Percival asked finally, quietly.

Newt shook his head, “I don’t actually know, Mr. Graves…”

Percival growled, “What the hell does that mean?  _You_ called me over here in the middle of a work day!”

The director took a step forward to try and see if he could ask Credence himself – but to Percival’s shock and amazement -- Newt copied the movement to block Credence from his path.

“What the hell is this?” Percival hissed in warning, frustration climbing to undiscovered heights.

”I need to ask you something,” Newt said calmly yet with a stern edge to his tone, “Did you two have sex last night or this morning?”

Percival gaped openly at the brazen question, “That is none of your fucking business Scamander… tell me what this is about or step aside at let me talk to Credence. If you won’t move, I have no problem with making you.”

Newt shook his head and he let out a long sigh.

The Brit was impressively unnerved in the face of a livid Percival Graves, and it scared Percival even more so knowing that whatever the trouble was, the director’s wrath _still_ apparently paled in comparison.

In the softest voice Percival had ever heard Newt speak, he begun to explain.

“I came around at 11 AM like usual, just to do a quick walk by. I noticed there was a dull tapping noise at the kitchen window. So, I went to check. It was Cheshire… he hadn’t been let out yet.”

“So?”

Behind Newt, Percival could see that Credence was still breathing… but he hadn’t shifted or made noise, and it was disquieting observation.

“Well Credence lets Cheshire out every morning, doesn’t he?” Newt reminded him, and Percival understood the train of thought.

“I let myself in and went up to see if he was alright,” Newt was mumbling now.

The Brit begun to merge words together -- prattling them off like they were a nasty tasting thing that he was in a rush to spit out.

“ _And_?”

Percival urged Newt along, his own pulse too rapid for his own comfort.

Silence for a moment.

Newt turned his head to look back at Credence, unable to hide the wince from his expression as he said, “He was on this bed. Naked. All over him there was blood… and other things.” 

“ _Other things_?” Percival repeated breathlessly, as any breath contained in his body had been thoroughly knocked out.

“Semen, most likely, yes,” Newt almost whispered the confirmation.

“Did he say who….”

“He was unconscious,” Newt cut him off, “He did wake up for a short time and he said that everything hurt but he can’t remember a thing. I did all I could to fix him up and get him dressed… gave him some drought to knock him out for a few more hours, until I could talk to you. Mr. Graves, we _have_ to tell someone…”

“Like who, Scamander?” Percival snapped, “The authorities who are literally out for his blood?”

Under his breath, Newt retorted, “Not Europe’s authorities…”

Suddenly, Percival spun around -- standing with his back to the other man.

The director was speechless – quite literally – and whatever sentiment or reaction that his face might give away was something that he wasn’t comfortable with Newt Scamander seeing.

“Leave,” Percival said decisively.

The word was spoken quiet…. but beneath the thin veil of the soft and short growl was all the fury of a harrowing scream.

Still, it was almost a surprise when Newt obeyed without hesitation – he gathered his case, exiting the bedroom and their house like it was due to explode at any given moment.

When they were alone --- when Percival was certain Newt had left the house and apparated on the opposite street, -- Percival approached Credence carefully.

He turned the boy over so that he laid out on his back.

Although he had mentally braced himself, Percival was both relieved and surprised to see that Credence’s face – that somewhat gaunt face that had come to be opium to his vision – was wholly intact and unmarked.

 _Perhaps_ , Percival thought wishfully, _Newt had only been exaggerating._

Still, Percival’s hands shook as he undressed Credence, who still slept with a nearly serene expression.

…And to savor that artificial and temporary serenity was all Percival could really do to maintain what little sanity he still had left.

What little sanity he _might_ have left.

There were forming bruises splattered over the landscape of Credence’s thighs and hips, red marks and tiny cuts.

Breathing heavily, Percival pulled off the whole of the black sweater Newt had dressed him in.

It was then that Percival found a new note.

However, this message was not written on paper -- but rather engraved into the skin of Credence’s stomach.

Just above the bellybutton -- like an ugly tattoo with coagulated blood serving as dark red ink – were wounds that read like a cruel jeer:

PERCIVAL’S QUIFF

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for those of you who dont know "quiff" can be 20's slang for a cheap prostitute :)


	11. Why

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Percival finally spills the beans. Credence has a surprising reaction.

“I swear Percy, I don’t remember a thing.”

Credence had recovered quickly with the assistance of advanced healing magic, but his short-term memory remained a blur.

It was obvious enough that at some point after Percival had left for work that morning, someone had broken in and assaulted Credence violently – likely the same someone who had been toying with Percival by constantly threatening Credence.

It would have to be a wizard of the same skill or caliber as the person who had been able to evade Percival’s watchful eye and bypass his security.

For it was obvious enough to Percival that the intruder had not only managed to break in – but managed raping and mutilating Credence as well.

And _still_ – Credence could not remember anything happening at all.

Whoever it was had buried their tracks very, _very_ well… and it could only be the same individual.

“I fell asleep,” is what Credence stated when Percival pressed him for what he _did_ remember -- and Percival deduced that it was probable that they had used either potion or magic to knock Credence out cold before violating him.

If there was the possibility that Credence didn’t have experience this awake… Percival supposed that that was at least _some_ saving grace.

The carefully crafted scar on Credence’s stomach was wrapped heavily in bandages -- thick layers of gauze that Percival had commanded him to leave there.

“Someone broke in and hurt you,” Percival had tried to explain.

And the first word out of Credence’s mouth afterward was, “Why?”

Why, indeed.

This person had instructed Percival to hurt Credence to the point of unleashing the obscurus.

They had given him a deadline of one week.

A week passed – Percival disobeyed – and following up on their promise, whoever it was took matters into their own hands.

…but then _why_ knock the boy unconscious before doing it?

If this was someone potentially after the obscurus, they would likely know enough to realize that unless Credence is awake and _experiencing_ the distress, the obscurus wasn’t going to show itself.

So what was the point of this?

Was it just to send a message?

From the beginning of the entire ordeal, Percival had always seen the target as Credence.

Someone out there was stalking _Credence_.

Someone out there was after _Credence_.

Someone out there wanted to hurt _Credence_.

These were the ideas believed to be facts that haunted Percival’s every waking moment since the day the first picture arrived.

It wasn’t until now – when Percival was sipping at another late-night glass of scotch, and Credence was curled up beside him with a book and an almost ignorant bliss --- that Percival did consider that perhaps _he_ had been the target all along.

Perhaps… someone out there just wanted to fuck with him.

And now that Credence was in his life – sweet, innocent Credence who deserves absolutely none of this --- this villain had finally found a way to mess with the director, to torment the man who had no weaknesses.

Percival sighed, putting down the emptied scotch glass on the nightstand beside him.

“Credence, I have something unpleasant to tell you.”

Credence only partly looked up from the pages of the open book that concealed the bottom half of his face.

Through wide and attentive eyes, the younger man inquired Percival to elaborate.

Although puddles of scotch still lingered in his mouth, Percival felt his mouth was incredibly dry.

He said nothing as he opened the top drawer of his nightstand --- and with a heavy sigh he handed Credence the stack of photographs that he had never wanted the boy to see.

“Someone’s been following us… _you_ ,” Percival began as Credence slowly sifted through the photographs -- any color the boy had in his face draining as he looked at each one.

“Wha… how…” Credence was clearly at a loss for words, and understandably so.

“It’s why I punched Shaw,” Percival confessed, “I thought he was the one taking these photos… but obviously I don’t think he would have been able to break into our home, let alone hurt you.”

Credence had stopped looking at the photographs.

His eyes were fixed on Percival’s faced as he asked, “How long have you known about this?”

Percival sighed another long sigh.

He supposed there wasn’t much point in letting the cat _partway_ out of the bag.

“Over a week,” came the quiet admission, “I didn’t want you to know. I wanted to find the bastard, kill him, and throw those pictures in the furnace right along with his dead body…. But whoever it was got to you first, and it’s all my fault Credence. I’m _so_ sorry.”

Percival stopped talking, allowing Credence a few moments to digest what Percival had been struggling to chew on for days.

“What’s underneath the bandages, Percival?” the boy then whispered as his fingers traced over the dressing on his stomach.

“Nothing I can’t fix in time…” Percival assured him, “…but just not right now. Just… don’t look at it yet. We have other things to deal with. You… you might have to go with Newt for a while.”

“Newt?” Credence said the name with surprising distaste, “Why?”

“Because someone is trying to get to me through you,” Percival admitted finally, the bitter taste of reality like saltwater on his tongue.

“And you aren’t safe here.”

“ _And I’m safe with Newt_?”

Percival felt on the verge of tears as he hoarsely professed, “…I don’t know, Credence. I just know that you aren’t safe _here_ , and that alone means I can’t let you stay here.”

And Credence shook his head, his own eyes surprisingly dry.

The boy had grown _so_ much stronger since they had first met.

_Maybe stronger._

_Or maybe just numb_.

“You don’t speak for me, Percy,” Credence said in a low but vehement voice, “You can’t make me go, I’m not a child and you’re not my guardian…”

“Whoever took these photographs kept copies,” Percival tried to calmly explain, “They’ve already sent one to the President without context. She isn’t sure it’s you but she’s instructing us to keep an eye out for you. Whoever this person is, they’re using every channel to pressure me into hurting you. Based off the fact that they actually broke into our home and fucking attacked you, I’m pretty sure they’re not going to stop.”

“I get it,” Credence muttered under his breath sulkily, hugging his knees to his chest, “Your precious jobs in danger. Well I guess I’ll take my leave if you really want me out, but you don’t get to dictate where I go. I’m not leaving New York.”

“This isn’t about my job!” Percival snapped, his patience crumbling under the heavy weight of his frustration and sorrow.

“You have only two options right now, Credence… staying with me or leaving with Newt. Tina can’t take you, Newt can barely sneak into her place without the landlord noticing. At the very least, Europe doesn’t have a congress that has a bounty out on your head and a stalker that isn’t hellbent on hurting you for my sake.”

“If you’re giving me a choice, then I _choose_ to stay here!” Credence snapped back in a strained, unwavering and angry.

“After all this?” Percival asked, baffled at the younger man’s logic – or apparently lack thereof.

“I’ve spent my entire life in danger, Percival…” Credence answered, his tone soft again. His expression had softened as well and all Percival saw sitting beside him was someone exhausted and distant.

The younger man suddenly leaned against Percival’s shoulder, tilting his head so that it rested firmly against the crook of Percival’s neck.

“…the truth is that I’ve never known safety, and I doubt I ever will. As for them making you hurt me… it’s obviously a little late for that. Even still... you’re all I have, Percy. Unless you make me leave, I’ll always stay with you.”

“That’s…. that’s _horrible_ ,” was all Percival could think to say in response – but he could not deny the way that Credence’s insistence on staying wrapped around his selfish heart like a warm blanket.

The director inside him urged Percival to push Credence off and tell him to start packing for Europe this instant… yet it was the lover in him that pulled the boy closer still, wrapping an arm around him and continuing the awkward cuddling in the moment of horrified silence.

“Yeah,” Credence only shrugged, “We’re both pretty messed up.”

“This… this doesn’t solve anything,” Percival reminded them both -- the Auror inside of him struggling to overpower the romantic who was wanting to just fuck Credence here and now and let come what may.

“Hmmm…” Credence glanced at the photographs again, then back up at Percival. When their gazes met again, Percival saw a bit of sparkle in the dark abyss of Credence’s pupils.

“Well if he’s trying to use me to get to you… why don’t we try setting up a trap?”

 


	12. Cat and Mouse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Percival comes into work the following morning with a weight off his shoulders. 
> 
> In it's place, a piano falls on him.

There were less than a handful of hours between the relief of Percival’s confession and the terrible weight it was replaced with by the following morning.

Of course, _this_ was the morning Percival came to work late.

It was very unusual for the director… even after a sleepless night.

Yet it had not been the lack of shut eye that added to the bags under Percival’s eyes, but rather the long brainstorming session he had had all night with Credence.

Still, he had felt somewhat better as he stepped into the elevator leading to his floor --- until Percival finally noticed the scathing looks he was getting from those around him.

Even in the elevator, people he had never seen before seemed to be inching away from him as much as possible.

Still… it wasn’t of _real_ concern to him.

At least, not until the director strode into his office to find the president already seated in his chair – her expression in a subtle scowl.

“Madam President,” Percival greeted her warily as he stopped in his tracks, already too unnerved to come any closer.

“Graves,” Seraphina hissed, “What is the meaning of this?”

The president tossed something Percival’s way and Percival almost took a step back out of reflex – before he realized it was a small something.

…Something no larger or thicker than a photograph.

_Damn._

Percival tried to keep his expression unreadable as he took two steps forward to see what Seraphina had tossed on the edge of the desk.

Sure enough -- it was once again a photograph of Credence.

The boy was nude, ravaged and disheveled.

The words PERCIVAL’S QUIFF carved freshly into his gut, each letter bled glaringly crimson.

He was undoubtedly unconscious -- his head turned to the side and his eyes closed. But in his hair as well as around his mouth, Percival could see the miniscule puddles of semen that Newt had tentatively mentioned.

_Who other than Grindelwald would hate him this much?_

_It had to be a Grindelwald follower._

_It simply had to be_.

_No one else would be capable of this much evil…_

“Ahem,” Seraphina cleared her throat and interrupted the train of thought that was about to steamroll off the tracks, bringing Percival back to the present.

“Explain yourself, Graves.”

Percival opened and closed his mouth a couple of times before he actually answered.

At the first attempt to speak, the director had been a breath away from simply confessing everything.

But at the second or perhaps third, his quick wit was able to remind him of a certain detail that Percival hadn’t picked up on in his initial state of shock:

This _still_ was not one of the photographs of the both of them together.

And therefore, Percival still had some very _small_ room to continue playing dumb.

 “….I have _no_ clue,” Percival finally said in a scathing voice, his own expression becoming offended, “This… this is absolutely disgusting.”

Seraphina cocked her head curiously, and Percival returned the inquisitive stare with knitted brows.

“It is undoubtedly the Barebone boy,” Seraphina glanced again at the photo, “ _Why_ would someone carve your name into him… let alone send a copy of this to every employee in MACUSA?”

Percival could not help the gape at her words -- the second question landing on his bottom jaw like a dumbbell.

“Excuse me?” Percival tried not to stammer, “… _Every_ employee in MACUSA?”

“Every single one,” Seraphina reiterated.

Her eyes were less than sympathetic.

They roved over Percival, scrutinizing.

Looking for some kind of tell.

There was a very low rumble that could be heard as the aura of Percival’s fury reflected on every inch of the office -- but Percival was too flustered to hear it himself.

The director only saw that the president’s gaze suddenly seemed to dart around the large room in varying directions, as though they were ping pong balls. And just as abruptly… _something_ made Seraphina take her cue to leave.

She stood -- her majestic robes unfurling around her.

“Look… as you well know, I’m too busy to be playing 21 questions with you. I _will_ get down to the bottom of this,” she promised coolly, “Either way, Graves.”

In response, Percival actually smiled at her.

Something about the challenging undertones of her voice made the director want to suddenly burst into giddy but humorless laughter.

Again, he was tempted to just let it all out --- confess everything, and see how his President would react to the revelation that her most treasured employee was an invert secretly both housing _and_ fucking the boy she carried a personal vendetta against.

Could he really blame her?

Credence had threatened everything that night.

Wouldn’t he have done the same?

Yet somehow… although he knew Seraphina’s feelings to be justified, the scars that Credence carried from her efforts to destroy him had become a foundation.

The mere fact that Credence had been harmed under _her_ command had planted seeds -- and inside Percival, a grudge had gradually grown and blossomed.

 “…I hope you do, Madam President,” Percival finally managed to answer in kind, his lips barely parting to cover teeth that were grinding together in aggravation.

She quirked an eyebrow at him, “You’re dismissed for the day, by the way. Don’t come back until I send for you.”

It wasn’t so much granted time off rather than a disguised suspension… but Seraphina hardly needed to clarify that.

And she sauntered off. Although Percival did not turn around to watch her exit the office, he could feel her gaze burning holes into the back of his head.

Only when Percival heard the door click softly closed did he realize just how weak his knees seemed to be -- or how much they suddenly seemed to shake.

Making a point not to glance at the photograph that Seraphina had left on the desk; Percival half walked, half stumbled into his office chair.

He leaned back into the soft lining -- his eyes closing shut.

The image of Credence brutalized and maimed seemed burned into Percival’s retina… and he fought to refrain from vomiting all over the desk.

At the small window just above the desk, there was a soft tapping. But Percival could not react to it at the moment.

The thought of any further movement made his throat constrict.

He knew he had to leave soon either way.

Typically Seraphina did not dismiss anyone unless she wanted them to make their exit as soon as possible.

Yet the idea that _every_ employee had been sent this photograph…

The idea that any colleague he came across on his way would know…

Well… what would they know exactly?

 _That_ was the beauty of it all.

If Percival wasn’t so horrified and violated, he might almost hand it to the mystery assailant.

They _could_ have used a photograph of him and Credence in the throes of hot passionate love making… they had proven that they had already taken such photos, and Percival didn’t doubt their claim that they had made copies.

Then Percival would have walked into work -- and simply been arrested.

And then, undoubtedly, they would have gone to Percival’s home to finish the job they had started back at the train station.

_Tap._

_Tap._

_Tap._

…but they hadn’t done that at all.

Instead -- they had left room for deniability.

They had dug a knife into Credence’s skin with the intent of forming a connection – like an adolescent carves initials into the trunk of a tree.

They wanted people to know that this had something to do with Percival… but _what_?

This _could_ be some enemy with a grudge against the director – as there were many – who had also gotten their hands on Credence Barebone and wanted to send a taunting message.

Everything aside, there is no hard evidence that Percival knew anything about this.

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

…but once again, _why_?

Again -- Percival revisited the idea that this was all just to fuck with him.

This person hadn’t sent out the damning, hard evidence that would do Percival in. They could have, but they didn’t.

No… because whoever it was _wanted_ this stupid fucking game to continue.

They wanted to keep playing this sick game of cat and mouse – this twisted game where Percival was the mouse, no clear rules had been set, and the only prizes seemed to be Credence’s continued safety and Percival’s continued sanity.

 _Tap_!                                        

Percival’s eyes shot open.

Titling his head upward slightly, he finally glanced at the window just above his chair.

It was his own owl – Cheshire – who stood at the sill, wings flapping in his impatience.

His body feeling a hundred times older than it was when he had walked in, Percival groaned as he forced himself to get up from the chair and let Cheshire in.

Cheshire did not bother to ask for seeds or snacks of any kind, which was uncharacteristic for the owl.

It only dropped a new note off into Percival’s open hands -- flying out the still open window as soon as it did.

Almost too numb to feel any further dread, Percival hastily unfolded the small scrap of paper. Just like most of the other notes, the words scrawled on it were few and vague:

_You shouldn’t have told him._


	13. Sucker Punch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Newt and Percival find they both have grievances to air to one another. In the process, Newt lets slip a confusing -- and disturbing -- bit of news.

Percival arrived home with the intention of telling Credence that the situation had worsened and that they needed to leave ASAP.

What he did not intend was to find someone standing over Credence -- back turned to Percival’s vision so that he could not see this someone’s face. It only appeared as a tall and slender silhouette that he could only recognize as _not_ Credence’s.

Stomach still tossing and turning from the disturbing image that had been seemingly seared into his mind, Percival did not hesitate to grab his wand and shoot off a stunning spell.

Credence screamed out and Percival barely registered that it was Newt Scamander he had hit before Newt spun around and sent a spell right back at him.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Percival demanded in a low growl, stepping aside right on time so that the spell barely missed.

“He was just here to check on me, Percy!” Credence tried to explain, but Percival couldn’t quite register what the boy was saying.

All he could focus on was the fact that Newt had not lowered his wand – and in the eyes of someone who was the physical embodiment of the expression “puppy dog eyes”, there was a suddenly a sinister gleam.

“I fucking _knew_ it was you, Scamander…” Percival stepped backwards slightly, and Newt only followed the movement with a step of his own.

Newt did not respond with words, but sent yet another hex his way.

Percival dodged it partway -- but it still singed his right thigh. He continued to walk backwards, trying to lure the brewing duel as far from Credence as possible.

Of course, Credence _tried_ to follow – and both Percival and Newt glanced at the younger man only briefly before they both seemed to use wandless magic shut and lock the door, as the door slammed close with a resounding bang.

The moment their eyes met again, Newt shook his head.

“I don’t know what you mean by that Graves,” Newt said, and Percival didn’t miss how the ‘Mister’ had been dropped from the Brit’s address, “I was hoping to work things out the civil way… but unfortunately I really _must_ hurry things along.”

“I think you know damn well what I mean,” Percival hissed.

He supposed it really should have been obvious that the only other person besides Percival to have access to this place would be the only person to suspect of a break-in… but it was a bit late for regrets at the given moment.

Percival shot a blow in the other man’s direction, believing he had waited long enough to lull the younger Scamander into a false sense of security.

Still, Newt managed to dodge the bulk of it --- allowing it to hit and char the wall behind him.

“Surprisingly limber for a magizoologist,” Percival quipped before he shot off another spell, finally getting the other man in the left ankle.

Newt flinched at the blow, but only returned another in kind.

Percival was surprised by quickness of the counter attack, and it hit him squarely in the stomach.

He fell backwards -- aghast to find that the top of the staircase was right behind him.

His felt his spine hit quite a few steps before he finally landed halfway down the staircase --- but Percival was just glad that he hadn’t fallen _all_ the way down, he supposed.

“Thesus trained me,” Newt answered back almost conversationally, approaching the director with a limp, “That… and I really must admit, Graves…. I have been wanting to do this for a _rather_ long time. Stupefy!”

Newt fired, but Percival rolled over quicker. He stumbled to his feet, ignoring the throbbing that pulled at his neck at the slightest movement.

“Why?” Percival growled.

He continued to walk backwards, trying to lure Newt to the bottom of the stairs.

“You mad that Tina has the hots for me or something?”

If the taunt was intended to hit a nerve, it worked.

Newt fired another spell at the words, but Percival was prepared and rather than counter attacking, he ducked down and leaned forward --- pulling Newt by the front of his vest so that they _both_ tumbled down the rest of the staircase in a tangled mess of limbs and various pent up frustrations.

As they landed on the first floor, Percival made sure that Newt was beneath him to break their fall.

No matter how much Thesus may have trained his younger brother in magical self-defense – when it came to down to pure strength and muscle, Percival knew he had the upper hand.

When they came to a stop, Percival pulled back a fist and landed a couple of punches before Newt recovered enough from their tumble to knee Percival off him.

“Tina was the _only_ reason that I tried to be respectful of you, Graves,” Newt growled warningly as he squirmed out from underneath the director, “Thesus had told me about what a dirtbag you are… but she thought highly of you, and so _by god_ I tried to give you the benefit of the doubt…”

Once they had separated from each other both men – both panting and bleeding – finally seemed to take a break from assaulting one another.

“I’m sorry to have disappointed you,” Percival mumbled, “But Tina… where _is_ Tina, anyway?”

A lightbulb – perhaps an ill-timed one, but a lightbulb nonetheless – had suddenly gone off in Percival’s mind.

He hadn’t seen Tina either time he had come to visit -- and he couldn’t recall seeing her at work either.

Then again, Percival had to admit that he had hardly been keeping an eye out.

He had just been so distracted lately.

Understandably so, he’d like to think.

“Wouldn’t you know?” Newt scowled from across the hall, “We got the MACUSA owl saying you’d sent her off.”

“ _What_?”

Percival was unable to keep the baffled expression from his face, his entire head tilting from the sheer confusion.

“Really Graves…” Newt scoffed, “…I knew you were worried about what I might tell her, but was it really necessary to send her across the god damn country?”

“I have no idea what the fuck you’re talking about…” Percival buried his face in his hands, just to try and quell the throbbing of his injuries.

He was confused, in terrible pain, and in all honesty, he just wanted to get back to Credence as soon as possible.

It had been far too quiet on the second floor for his taste, now that he had a moment to think about it.

“Did you not send Tina out on Auror business in California?” Newt finally thought to ask, _finally_ a twinge of doubt in the cold tone that was rather unbecoming of Newt’s typically gentle image.

“No, you fucking _idiot_!” Percival couldn’t help but scream, the frustration that had been brewing since that morning coming to a boiling point.

“It had your seal on it…” Newt recalled, obviously trying to think back on what he saw – or whatever he thought he saw.

“Is that why you fucking attacked me?” Percival snapped at the other man, “We couldn’t have had this conversation up there?!?”

“You attacked first,” Newt reminded him pointedly, “After that, well _yes_ … I suppose it may have played a factor… among other things…”

Percival watched the Brit with tired and wary eyes.

He seemed genuinely befuddled and concerned, with maybe a tinge of embarrassed.

The sudden loss of aggressive body language led Percival believe he was being honest -- and only then did Percival truly consider the implications of all the magizoologist had said prior to this moment.

Perhaps it hadn’t been that silly to enchant that scarf after all, Percival thought to himself grimly.

And across from him, finally, the director saw another man who looked just as confused and as worried as Percival had felt for days that had stretched on and melded together like eternal damnation.

 


End file.
